“Life is a tricky thing. It does what it wants, and I’d be sad to see you let this opportunity go because your scarred heart isn’t willing to heal.”
I pull away and wipe at my cheeks.
“I don’t know, Grandma.”
She squeezes my hand and says, “Just give it some thought. Don’t shut him out immediately, okay?”
I nod and take a deep breath. “Did you bring me anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“To make it up to me. Did you bring anything . . . like your famous sugar cookies?”
Chuckling, she stands from my bed and goes to the hallway where she brings a container of cookies and sets them on my lap. “All for you. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. I can only tolerate you right now.” I point my finger at her and I say, “I swear though, if you ever try a stunt like that again, you will be seeing an early grave and I’ll be digging it. Got it?”
She nods.
I take a cookie out and bite into it, letting the sweet icing soothe my soul. “You’re not forgiven, and it’s going to take some time for me to trust you again, but these cookies are really good. Thank you for making them for me.”
“You’re welcome, Chuckie. As long as you keep giving me chances to make it up to you, I will. Just promise you’ll give me a chance.”
“I will.”
“And promise me you’ll give Rath a chance.”
I look to the side, chewing. Once I swallow, I say, “We’ll see, Grandma. Love is fragile. When it’s broken, it’s very hard to repair.”
“Giving it a chance to repair is the first step.”
But what if I’m too scared to take that first step? Yes, my mom told me with love can come hurt, but after what happened with Chris? My trust is fragile. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to put myself out there again, especially against such a magnetic man. But is Grandma right? Was I letting this opportunity go because I believe my heart is too scarred? That it can’t heal?
Even though, many times when I was in his arms, I thought it already had?
Chapter Thirty-One
RATH
Pastry box in hand, I step onto the floor of my office and look around the empty space, my hope falling flat when I don’t see Charlee.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, wanting to drop-kick the pastry box into one of the windows. She’s not back yet? I thought maybe she would take a week and then come back, but now I’m worried she’s never going to come back to work . . . or to me.
Deflated, I head to my office and open the door only to find Charlee setting a tray of food on my desk. I stutter step to a stop, shocked to see her, elated to be in the same room.
“Charlee,” I say on a short breath. “You’re here.”
She clasps her hands together and nods. “Yes, I thought it would be best to come back to work. I’m sure my laundry list of things to do is astronomical.”
We’ve fallen quite behind, but there’s no way in hell I’d give her work to do right now.
“Not too bad,” I say, swallowing hard and taking a step forward. I hold the pastry box out and say, “I, uh, got some of the cheese ones you like.”
She smiles softly and rounds my desk. She’s wearing black trousers and a tight purple blouse that looks amazing on her. She’s beautifully stoic, and it kills me that she’s not wearing all the same color, or that she’s not bouncing off the wall, chattering my ear off, or that she’s not asking me a million questions about my morning routine.
Instead, she takes the box from me and starts to walk toward the door. “Thank you. I’ll grab myself one. Would you like me to put one on a plate for you?”
“Sure,” I say quietly, and she disappears.
Fuck, this almost seems worse.
At least last Monday she was mad, she was ready to lay into me and teach me about how to be a good person, but now it feels like the life has been sucked from her and she’s going through the motions rather than letting herself be real.
I take a seat at my desk and look at the little tray with a smoothie and some fruit on it. I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked into the office today, but a lackluster Charlee was not on the list.
She walks back in and I can’t help the way I lust after her, how I desperately want to take her hand in mine and bring her around to sit on my lap, where I can revel in her sweet scent and run my mouth over her silky, soft skin.
She sets a plate down on my desk and then takes a seat across from me with her own plate. Taking a bite, she chews for a few seconds and kindly says, “Thanks for the Danish.”
Christ.
This isn’t just awkward, this is depressing. It’s as if she’s deciding to ignore anything that’s ever happened between us. And how do I even broach the topic of hey, you’re being weird without being insulting?
You don’t.
“I figured we could have a little chat if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, leaving my food to rest on my desk. I’m not hungry in the slightest.
“I think we need to set some ground rules for working together, you know, so there aren’t any misunderstandings.”
I nod, even though I want to drive my fist through the wall. The last thing I want to be doing right now is setting ground rules. What I want to be doing is apologizing and making everything right between us, not set up rules that can keep her farther away from me.
“Should I grab a notebook and we can write them down together?”
I shake my head and say, “How about you work on them and then we talk them over tomorrow?”
That will give me some time to ignore this idiotic idea and come up with a plan. A plan that I’m going to have to make happen very quickly.
“Oh, sure. Are you busy?”
“Very,” I say, wanting to usher her out of the room so I can start thinking of a way to end this misery.
Coming in today, I had the idea that I would talk to her, apologize, and by noon we’d be back at my place, making up, but that idea was immediately squashed the moment I saw how apathetic and quiet Charlee was.
It’s as if someone literally took all her energy for themselves and left her with barely anything left. I did that to her. Fucking hell.
“Okay, well, should we go over what I need to do?”
Shit, I didn’t put together a list either, because once again, my goal coming into the office wasn’t to work; it was to get my girl back.
I rub my jaw. “Why don’t you get started on emails and then I’ll, uh, make a list for you?”
Make a list that’s going to get her out of the office so I can work on things without being disturbed.
“Sure, that works. I probably have a ton.” When I think she’s going to leave, she doesn’t instead, she lifts her eyes to meet mine when she says, “Please don’t feel like you need to keep me around. If you want to let me go, no hard feelings, okay?”
Has she lost her goddamn mind? Let her go? Jesus, her job is the only thing right now keeping her close to me, so there’s no way I’m going to let her go. No, I’m going to hold on to her as long as I can.